In My Imagination
by Skizzii
Summary: Is it possible to have a crush on your supposedly imaginary friend? Jean has had to move to different cities on an average of 27 time per year which would probably produce enough teen angst for a whole novel.Lonely and bored, one night he finds a cute boy with freckles on his balcony glowing with an ethereal light? Was this person real, or was he just all part of his imagination?


The cafeteria was littered with noise; chairs scraped across the floor, people laughed or talked to their friends about a new game or movie.

I sat alone, watching everything silently as I slowly finished my sandwich. My pencil made light, rough marks on paper as I worked on something for my art class.

The bell rang for the end of lunch. I sighed as I tucked away my lunchbox and sketchbook into my bag. It had a scrawny old tag attached to it labeled 'Jean Kirschtien' in the messy handwriting of a six-year-old. I'd kept the tag from my first school for…. Sentimental reasons. It was the only school out of many in which I'd had more than ten friends at the same time.

Kinda fucking sad, huh.

I was new to this school, so of course, I didn't have any friends. Besides, I was too introverted to go up and talk to people, and it wasn't like I would be staying here for long anyway. My parents had to keep moving locations because of work, resulting in me changing schools on an average of three times per year.

Fucking great.

It wasn't like I never had friends, but the friends I had were soon gone and I had to start all over again. One day, I said something as close to 'fuck it' as I could with my ten-year-old vocabulary and decided to just stop bothering trying to make friends. Sure, it was lonely sometimes, but making new friends was a huge hassle and I decided I'd rather not waste my time. I just had to make do.

No, fuck that.

Seven years down the line, I started to wish that I hadn't stopped trying. I wished I had a few friends here and there. Wished that I had those magical school prom parties that all the movies seemed to show. Wished that I wasn't crippled with social anxiety. Wished that I had fucking made an effort and I fucking WISHED.

 _That I wasn't alone._

I sank lower into my seat, waiting for the bell to ring as I counted down the minutes and seconds. Forty-four minutes and thirty-six seconds left. The teacher's voice droned on and on, and I felt myself succumbing to the warmth of the heater as the monotonous voice lulled me to sleep.

The dream I had while I was asleep was weird to say the least. I was in a library; a strange one that I had never been in before. The bookshelves were old and dusty and packed so full with books, you'd think they would burst. I walked slowly along the shelves, running my hands over the spines of the books and suddenly, I saw a gold light shining through the cracks of the stacked books. It seemed to sparkle, in a way that was reminiscent of dust motes illuminated by sunlight.

I was drawn to it. I walked towards it, slowly at first, then faster and faster until I was almost running. I came to a sudden halt. The source of the light was an old but beautiful key, with graceful golden swirling designs etched on it. The key was hanging around a boy's neck on a silver chain. As I tore my eyes from the key to focus on the boy's face, he disappeared and I woke with a start as the clear noise of the school bell rang.

I stepped outside of the school building and into the snow. The sudden cold surprised me and made me feel more awake, as if I had just drunk a cup of coffee.

A below freezing cup of coffee.

All warmth collected in class left my body as I jogged to the bus stop, tugging my scarf closer around my neck in a pathetic attempt to try to maintain my warmth. My breath came out in white puffs and for a brief moment, I was enchanted by the swirling smoke-like puffs of warm air, remembering crisp white clouds in the summer skies.

I sighed in content as I entered the house. Mum had the heater on full blast and the familiar smell of her famous beef stew wafted through the rooms. I trudged up the stairs, dragging my bag behind me and flopped into my chair. I took out my sketchbook and started working on my art assignment. Sketching had always helped me when I was bored or sad or angry. It became like a sort of sink that I could pour all my feelings into. Before I realised, I'd started to draw the mysterious boy from the strange library.

The graceful curve of the old-fashioned key, the delicate vines etched into it, the sparkling silver chain and the boy. I drew in a shirt and jeans, making sure to include all the creases. All of a sudden, I stopped. I realized that I had gotten to the face. I never got to see his face, so I sketched a few different faces that I thought might fit there. A rugged, bearded man? No. An angular face? No. A face with killer cheekbones and eyebrows? No. None of those felt right. After an hour, my frustration was at its' peak. I rose up in a huff and decided to leave it blank.

I stayed silent for the rest of the day, my parents exchanging worrying looks over the dinner table. They asked me how school was and I shrugged my shoulders, picking at my stew.

 _Well, at least I'll just move to another school soon anyway. They probably have another job location to go to._

I sighed again and took a tiny bite out of a chunk of meat.

"Great news, honey!" Mum announced happily with a slight undertone of… nervousness? interrupting my inner turmoil.

"We're not moving again! This is going to be our permanent location!"

I stared at her. I could do nothing but stare at her. I could tell that she was trying to lighten the mood, but staying in the same place for the foreseeable future seemed a little… daunting. I would actually have to try and make friends at school. Talk to someone. Make an effort.

I wasn't ready.

Years of social anxiety bubbled up again. If I couldn't talk to anyone before, how could I now? I should see this as an opportunity to make friends so… why? Why was I fucking freaking out about this?

I hated this feeling. The feeling of helplessness, hopelessness. I could only stutter a few words to my teachers, so for the life of me how the hell could I handle this shit?

 _You don't have to talk to anyone._

I paused for a moment and considered it. I knew it wasn't healthy to have no one to talk to except your parents. But…. Another year alone would be fine, right? I drew out a shaky breath and sighed.

Alone it is, then.

"Jean? Honey?"

My eyes jerked up from my beef stew and found themselves looking at my mother's face, her features scrunched up with worry.

 _That face doesn't suit her. And it's my fault._

"Are you alright, honey? You look a bit pale… You know, if there's anything bothering you, you can tell us." She gestured to herself and dad, who nodded in agreement.

 _I can't let her carry my burdens for me again. She shouldn't worry about me. She's already stressed enough. I want her to smile more. Dad too. They both deserve more happiness than I can offer to them._

"S'fine. It's nothing." I muttered whilst trying out the best smile I could muster.

 _It's not nothing. Is it, Jean?_

I could see that Mum was still worried, but she smiled back nonetheless.

"Well, finish your stew, dear."

So I ate. Albeit very slowly, but I couldn't stomach more than a few bites at a time. When I finished eating, I trudged back up the stairs into my study, grumbling a goodbye and a thank you to my parents. I pulled out my art book and opened it up to the page where I drew the boy. I traced my fingers over the key, following the swirling patterns. My eyes came to rest on the still-blank face. I stared at it for an hour before I gave up and slammed the book shut in frustration.

Fuck this.

The boy appeared again in my dreams that night, standing atop a hill. The key hung loosely around his neck. He was holding out his hand and smiling at me. His mouth moved to form words but the sound was lost in the winds that swept past. I almost wanted to… reach out my hand to take his. To run away with him in this world that looked so beautiful.

 _To escape._

I woke with a start and looked around for my clock. 11:24 pm. The digits glowed red in the darkness. I relaxed a little. I still had time to sleep before I had to go to school. With that thought, I closed my eyes.

The boy was there again, in my dream, on the same hill. This time, he was holding the key out to me. I stepped up and reached out to take it, but all of a sudden, everything faded and I woke up a second time that night. I checked the clock again. 12:15. I tried to sleep again but I felt restless, so I got up and wandered around aimlessly.

 _I feel like a ghost._

I kept thinking about the dream. _What the hell did that mean? I wish I knew._

A cold breeze swept past and I was snatched away from my train of thought. I jumped when I noticed that I was standing on my balcony. I was too engrossed with my own thoughts that I hadn't been paying attention to where I was walking.

 _God fucking damnit, Jean._

Shivering, I turned to leave, planning to make my self some tea and continue on with my art project, but all my plans were thrown aside when I felt a warm yellow light behind me. I spun around, and there he was. Standing right in front of me.

The boy from my dreams. Literally.

Then, I realized I could see his face. Fucking finally. I rushed to take every detail in. He had messy dark hair with a middle part, a galaxy of freckles that ran everywhere, fucking doe eyes that looked like pits of chocolate and a button nose that was so _boop-able_.

 _Fuck. He was cute._

I was frozen. Speechless, I walked up carefully to him, slowly reaching an arm out. My fingers met warm skin and my eyes widened. I jerked away in shock and stared as the boy laughed at my bewilderment.

 _WHATTHEACTUALFUCK_. I was sure that this was just another dream, or that this was an illusion created as a result of my lethargy. Either that, or a really fucking creative burglary.

I gave myself a couple of slaps and pinches and tried closing my eyes for a while, but when I opened them, he was still there. Still watching me with an annoyingly amused grin.

 _Am I high? Did mum fucking accidentally put pot in the stew?_

My head was swarming with possible, logical and sometimes, illogical answers to the scenario _._

 _Fuck. What if he's a rapist, oh my god. Should I call the police? Maybe someone's pulling a prank on me, maybe he's a saint with all the 'warm projected light' shenanigans… Oh god AM I THE NEXT VIRGIN MARY?_ JEAN _OF ARC? Or maybe that was a torch used for seeing in the dark while thieving! Oh my god maybe I should call the police after all._

A crisp, light laugh filled the air as I snapped my head to the boy's direction. He was fucking laughing at me. That bitch.

"You should write books."

He grinned at me in an amused manner, and I could tell that he was trying to hold in another fit of giggles.

"Those accusations were so wild; I thought you were on drugs half the time."

 _Fucking excuse me, bitch._

He laughed again and the sides of his eyes crinkled up along with the bridge of his nose.

 _How much happiness did this adorable bitch hold? He fucking radiated positivity. Who did he think he was? Jesus?_

"First of all, I am not a bitch. Or Jesus for that matter."

 _What. He heard that?_

 _Fucking bitch._

"Second of all, I am not a rapist or thief and as much as both of us think, you are definitely not high."

 _Excuse me?_

"…Or the next Virgin Mary, or 'Jean' of arc for that matter."

His voice cut off as he tried to hold in another fit of giggles before taking a few deep breaths and smiling at me.

"And my name is Marco. Marco Bodt"

"Marco… Bodt." I said slowly testing his name out. It rolled easily off my tongue and I

liked the way it sounded _. Short and sweet_. The name somehow suited this freckled Jesus standing in front of me.

As soon as I sounded out his name, Marco seemed to glow as he smiled… again. I realized that I hadn't introduced myself yet, and I was about to start when Marco spoke.

"Your name is Jean right? Jean Kirschtien?" I nodded slowly, wondering if this person was a stalker yet again.

"What… who are you…exactly?" I asked tentatively.

He paused for a bit, probably thinking of a proper way to say, 'Look kid, just gimme some cash' or some shit. I'm still riding on the robber theory.

 _A_ hot _robber that dresses well, though._

I could probably take him on. I've taken on a flying plate of hot chips before. (Even if the chips won. …Don't ask).

Marco laughed, disrupting my internal conversation as he brushed his fingers through his hair.

 _Hot damn_.

He paused for a bit and started again.

"I'm actually your imaginary friend."


End file.
